Arrogance and zinnias
by pillbottle
Summary: “You didn’t have to do that,” she mumbled under her breath. “All you had to do was ask,” he replied breezily. A-Z. KyouyaHaruhi


**A** is for **Arrogance.** _How haughty and assured of yourself_

Kyouya was _arrogant_—his self-assurance in his performance was beyond doubt, the confidence he put in himself immeasurable. He was haughty in the way that he knew he was always correct, that there was not a flaw in his calculations.

She did not much like the tone of the voice he talked in, so certain with a predictable note to it. But she reluctantly admitted that Kyouya had a right to be graced with such hubris, though Haruhi certainly didn't think it was necessary. Aside such behavior, he wasn't perfect.

And she was correct—because to him, she was the variable.

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**B** is for **Bubbles.** _Those fragile-blown soaps that linger_

"I don't understand why I consented to this," Kyouya said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose; and he bit his tongue to refrain himself from stating that it was commoner's work. Methodically, he dried the soaped-down china as she worked.

"Don't regret it," Haruhi responded dully, lathering the expensive-looking dishware with lavender suds. "You'd have learn to do this sometime or other."

There was a lengthy pause, and she turned her head to see him staring at her. And while she blushed, he reached out and stroked some bubbles off her cheek -"I won't," smiling, _not _smirking.

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**C** is for **Cards.** _Ones to pass away the time_

Concealed behind opaque glasses and a set expression, Kyouya had the perfect poker face. And then, the opposite example was his blonde classmate.

"Full House," Tamaki breathed, fidgeting with glee as he showed his hand and glanced up at the girl across from him, beaming.

His elation was ruined as Kyouya slowly spread his cards down on the table. A Ten, a Jack, a Queen, a King and… an Ace. There was silence.

An air of victory seemed to colour the air around him, and Haruhi had the sinking suspicion he was looking directly at her when he ordered, "Strip."

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**D** is for **Dark Chocolate.** _Both bitter and sweet to the taste_

He had a rich, distinct taste about him—like chocolate, she decided. It wasn't the milky, expensive kind she salivated for, but strange and bitter, yet sweet at the same time. And it always left her wanting more.

Haruhi licked her swollen lips, delighting in the unusual flavour, anticipating for another taste of him. His mouth was addicting her, and her eyes drifted shut in a sugar-sunlit daydream and she nearly fell asleep in the middle of class.

The next time she treated herself to sweets, she bought a bar of dark chocolate and savored his taste the entire way home.

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**E** is for **Empathy.** _To understand with nothing but a single look_

Sometimes, Haruhi knew, Kyouya simply worked himself too hard, far too hard. She knew, because at those times in the darkened music room, without everyone but her, he would sit slumped in his chair with his hands over his face, glasses removed, and paint a picture of loneliness.

He would pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh occasionally, but mostly he would sit there, and it scared her to see him like that—so aloof and isolated from the world. Vulnerable.

And at those times she'd show her empathy—putting her arms around him and waiting until his breathing became regular.

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**F** is for **Fraudulence.** _Swindle your way from tight corners_

Haruhi wouldn't call it _lying_, exactly, for he did it in such a persuasive and subtle way that it was unnerving and rather alarming too think about. He possessed such fraudulence about him that he could make almost everyone dance to his strings.

Almost everyone.

It was strange, she knew, that she held such a resistance to Kyouya's compelling, enticing tone that others seem to fall so weakly too. His mysterious air and dark, enigmatic eyes seemed to ensnare and captivate them.

Perhaps, though, Haruhi thought as she blindly, trustingly (faithfully!) followed him, she was the most vulnerable after all.

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**G** is for **Glass.** _Cool, unmoving and utterly breakable_

Kyouya had been called a glass character before, and it was true; strong and level-headed and unwavering in his decisions. It was him—he had made himself out to be that: manipulating from the shadows, somewhat of a villainous personality at times. He preferred to work from behind and manage it all, instead of from the spotlight. It was safer, more protective.

However, he was just as fragile, Haruhi knew. She exposed him, uncovered him, drawn him from his dark corners where he drew his puppet strings. And without her, he was utterly breakable. He would shatter.

But she didn't leave.

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**H** is for **Hostage.** _Taken to a most unlikely place_

After countless times of being kidnapped by the excitable Hitachiin brothers, Haruhi had learned three things: a) struggling is futile; b) screaming bloody murder caused complications; and c) don't ask any questions.

So when she was taken hostage in the hallway outside the second library, she was merely annoyed rather than perturbed.

But then extremely surprised when she felt the cold click of a handcuff around one wrist and a hand her shoving none-too-nicely into a closet. Haruhi could hear them cackling maliciously. And the door locked behind them and she peered up at a bemused Kyouya in the darkness.

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**I** is for **Imaginary.**_ It only exists inside your deepest dreams_

Once he had thought that she was his, and only his to keep and love. How foolish he had been to believe the promises they made that were never kept; to believe in all the hopes they had that were never fulfilled. She had devastated him, destroyed him.

Something deep down in him retreated into blackness, and his eyes became dull and marble-like, and he withered. There was nothing left for him, so he closed his eyes again and dreamed that she was his. It was only _imaginary_, but he took it in comfort, although it hurt him even more.

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**J** is for **Jazz.** _That music locked away in dusty old records_

For one so privileged and prefect as he, Haruhi would have guessed—if asked—that he might be rather partial towards something _classical_, something… high-class and appropriate for such a person. But, when indeed her curiosity had gotten the better of her, she questioned his music preference, and Kyouya had promptly replied, "Jazz," without so much as an eyeblink.

"Ah," Haruhi fumbled, taken aback at his answer. "I didn't think…"

"Oh, it's actually quite simple," he said, with the air of one who knew great knowledge. He continued in a lofty tone, "You like it, therefore I do as well."

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**K** is for **Knots.** _Nasty things that scar the strings and stay there_

"Ah." Haruhi reached down to touch her shoelaces, scowling a bit. "It's a knot," she explained, meeting his curious eyes behind glasses. "It's been bothering me for days—hold on a second—"

Without a word, he bent down beside her and deftly began to undo the kink, moving away her fumbling fingers and ignoring the high-pitched, embarrassed protests. When he was finally finished, Kyouya gave her a cool look, regarding her flushed face imperiously with an unreadable expression.

"You didn't have to do that," she mumbled under her breath.

"All you had to do was ask," he replied breezily.

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**L** is for **Labor.** _An honest way to work off what you've stolen!_

The days crawled by at a leisurly pace, each filled with the stodgy task of charming faceless, forgotten customers; and somehow, extraordinarily, Haruhi never seemed to meet the mark of which she owed. And as she carried out her duty of engaging in flowery, flattering conversations, she knew she certainly wasn't.

Never was there a complaint, though, because she had Commoner's Pride, and she intended to honestly repay her so-called debt. For she had already given far more than needed, but as Kyouya put it softly, "She's not here for common labor, but to entertain _us," _he paused, "and _me_."

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**M** is for **Magician.** _With a trick up one sleeve_

Often did Haruhi wonder how he managed all of it—those nifty, unexplainable tricks of his that left her slightly baffled, sometimes irritated, but always secretly pleased. There were the little notes slipped in-between the slats in her locker; the presents that she found in her desks, the letters and packages that arrived in the mail (although those were rare).

They were addressed to her and only her, but they were never signed. As if the giver had wanted to remain anonymous. Although she knew who it was, always.

As she often told her friends, it was her lovely magician.

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**N** is for **Nonsense.** _Things that absolutely have no meaning_

"There's something you really should know," he first told her, and she had absolutely no idea on earth what he was talking about, truly and honestly.

But next was, "Somebody likes you," and although his words still had a cryptic meaning behind them, but she didn't know what it was.

"Somebody _really_ likes you," followed, and to Haruhi, by all accounts, he was still speaking nonsense with an oh-so-clever smirk.

And lastly, he breathed into her ear, "I love you," gently held her against the locker and moved his mouth to hers; and Haruhi, albeit somewhat disoriented, wasn't fooled anymore.

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**O** is for **Observations.** _They only appear when examined closely_

Little did she know that she was the object of his attention, his examination, his obsession. But he knew he couldn't take her—not here, not now—so he bided his time thoughtfully, waiting and watching; always watching.

Patience. So Kyouya began to familiarize with the habits that she displayed—the way she titled her head slightly when asked a pondering question, they way she bit her lip with exasperation; the way she began to look at him, with wondering, wistful eyes and secretive glances.

And it was then that he knew that his observations were over, and the waiting.

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**P** is for **Possession.** _Something that will be never lost_

They way he did it was subtle, but sometimes Haruhi would catch him gripping her hand slightly too hard, or glaring icily at those who longed wistfully for her company. She considered his actions with feelings with irritable dislike—for even though his intentions were well for her, she thought it was rather rude to treat her as... _his _possession.

The idea rather irked her. But whenever she opened her mouth to complain, Kyouya at once traced her lower lip with his tongue lightly and growled roughly, "You're _mine_," she had no idea what to say at all, blushing furious purple.

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**Q** is for **Quality.** _Exclusively bought to this rare brand_

He was used to the life of splendor, taken upon to a wealthy heir, that she was willingly obliged to take his hand and show him how to appreciate the common, overlooked things. However, Kyouya was so particular about this and that, right down to the most exact detail—it was utterly impossible.

"It's always posh and golden with sparkling diamonds—don't you have anything that's not quality brand?" she demanded one day, red-faced with exasperation.

Silencing her with a finger to her lips, he looked up and honestly replied, with a bit of well-humor in his voice—"Yes. You."

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**R** is for **Railroads.** _It's quiet after the trains're away_

Of course, no one traveled by train anymore—it was old fashioned, a forgotten practice. But the tracks remained behind, mere skeletons of the thundering locomotives that once traveled them, for miles and miles and miles.

Now they had run themselves into scraps of worthless metal, piling themselves upon one another in the junkyards. But the railroads remained behind, stretching far-out into the untouched countryside, winding paths through the rural suburbs.

And if one cared to look on a clouded, quiet afternoon, two figures could be seen walking hand in hand down the tracks, without a care in the world.

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**S** is for **Shadows.** _Dark shapes that flitter away from the light_

As she had rightfully named him, Kyouya was, indeed, the unmatchable Shadow King. Sometimes, Haruhi knew, he would play the villain—the nasty, frightful character—but it would teach her a lesson, and he would be forgiven.

He lurked behind the spotlight, pulling the strings to make his puppet's twitch and dance beneath his fingers. But always behind the curtains, always behind masks that covered his feelings and his heart.

And Haruhi would wonder if that was alright, to play in the dark, alone—but whenever she asked, all she met was the sweetness of a loving smile, behind blackness.

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**T** is for **Ticklish.** _What makes forced laughter bearable to hear_

It has all happened so suddenly, she nearly didn't notice it. Kyouya at once tensed, and a strange look came across his ordinarily careful visage. He gave a sort of cough in the back of his throat and proceeded to push her off.

"What's wrong?" Haruhi asked, alarmed, even more so when he swatted away her inquiring hands in a panic.

"Don't... touch me," he spoke through gritted teeth, as if trying to hold back a laugh; his entire face was turning a bit pink from the restraint.

Haruhi blinked, amazement dawning over her features. "Don't tell me… you're _ticklish_?"

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**U** is for **Umbrellas.** _Good luck charms bring the rain down_

Rain peppered the slick surface of their single umbrella and dripped off the edges, collecting in puddles at their feet. Once a sunny, pleasant day had been changed into a downpour of thick, white rain. The rattle of far-off thunder sounded in the distance, making her shiver with premonition.

Cold seemed to slither it's way inside her jacket, and Haruhi pressed herself closer to him for the protection and warmth, whimpering slightly. She whispered his name into his shirt pocket, clinging to him. Kyouya's hand came to rest upon her head, murmuring inaudible comforts.

And the rain kept coming down.

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**V** is for **Valour.** _Perhaps that courage was a regretted mistake_

There was something about her that made her simply... irresistible. Perhaps it was, as he so often advertised, the natural attractive charm and earnest, witty remarks whose sincerity was undoubtedly authentic. But, Kyouya decided, there was also something else beneath her captivating personality, away from the twittering customers and the feigned interests.

Maybe it was Haruhi's uncanny ability to deny him from invading her, deluding her, taking her hand and leading her down his path of plastic smiles and misery.

But, it was curious, he knew, smirking, as he leaned down into her; that her greatest strength was also her weakness.

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**W** is for **Whimsical.** _Remember those happy days?_

The changes were remarkable, almost surreal. In a mere matter of months she had changed extraordinarily from what she actually was—the entire matter had a dream-like, whimsical fantasy quality to it, almost.

Never would she have even hoped for this. She was Haruhi, the girl, the poor little commoner, who studied too hard and didn't fit in. And now? She was Haruhi, the boy, the earnest, shy host. One who was loved, admired, looked up too.

But she was still the same person—really, underneath all the masks and curtains. And he loved her for it, and she knew.

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**X** is for **Xingú.** _The ticket to winning_

A tense, anxious pause fell over the normally rambunctious Host Club. Tamaki rambled inaudibly under his breath; the twins flipped through an atlas, a determined gleam in their narrowed eyes.

Hand over mouth, the dark-haired Shadow King frowned for a moment, then tonelessly replied, "Xingú." The other's stared.

Mori nodded his head, signaling that it was indeed the correct answer, and Tamaki emitted a little wail.

Emerging victorious from what he considered an inane geography contest, Kyouya plastered on a blank smile and pointed to his cheek.

Rolling her eyes, Haruhi sidled up, grudgingly giving him a light peck.

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**Y** is for **Yams.** _Best when their eaten steaming on wintry days_

Kyouya didn't object when Haruhi suggested buying some hot yams (what they would have called sweet potatos, or something much more elegant, he assumed) from a commoner stand on the pathside.

He was pleasantly surprised at the taste, for it was far better than he would have expected, and it warmed his hands as he held the steaming package she had thrown at him in her haste. The snow had started falling softly, silently, in flakes that clung to their jackets.

Offhandedly, he suggested, "We could do this more often, you know," and was rewarded with a delighted smile and a hug.

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**Z** is for **Zinnias. **_Maybe there really are things better than others_

Not once, not ever, had Kyouya brought her roses. He had spent a costly sum delivering a bouquet to her doorstep on her birthday, and a corsage adorning her wrist when dancing... but there were always zinnias, not roses.

There were pastel-pink and delicately tipped with white, with green and red blossoming in the middle. There were beautiful yellow ones and orange ones and even snowy white ones. Perhaps, Haruhi thought, he preferred them because roses were rather clichéd—more Tamaki's thing.

Or, as she would rather imagine, they reminded him of her—ordinary and plain, yet blooming with colour and life.


End file.
